


sand in your hair

by cuubism



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 21:44:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20842493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuubism/pseuds/cuubism
Summary: Finn doesn't come save him this time.





	sand in your hair

Finn doesn’t come save him.

It’s the only thought Poe can assemble as he staggers down the corridor of the star destroyer, alarms blaring into his already pounding skull. He braces himself against the wall, leaving a red smear, other hand going to his ear to clamp down on the ascending whine. The corridor is shrinking, floor tilting, or it feels that way; someone is running toward him, too short, too slim, too much of a pilot to be Finn, the harsh red warning lights outlining her orange flightsuit…

He lurches upright upon awakening, mind jumping into flight mode. He goes to leap off the bench and is pushed back, struggles for a moment until a familiar voice reaches his ears.

“Easy, Poe. It’s just me.” Her hand is gentle but firm on his chest.

Poe’s not sure he can speak, throat too raw. “Jess,” he tries, and it sounds rough. He opens his eyes, observes the pained look on her face. She lifts a flask of water to his lips, wordlessly.

He drinks as much as she will allow, nods gratefully, lays back down at her urging. “Finn?” he asks, voice still harsh and overused.

“Should be back on base by the time we land. He hasn’t, uh. Been appraised of your...situation, yet. They didn’t want him getting distracted.” The edge to her voice betrays her dissatisfaction with the decision.

Poe misses the latter half of her statement, already drifting, lulled back to sleep by the rocking of the ship on the currents of hyperspace.

Jess lands so softly that it doesn’t wake him up. She touches his arm to rouse him, offers him a hand to pull himself to his feet. “Or do you need a stretcher?” Her eyes dart over him, concerned.

Poe kind of wants a stretcher, longstanding dislike of the medbay notwithstanding, but what he really wants is to see Finn, and if he can leave the ship on his own feet, he might be able to get a word in with him before he’s whisked away for treatment and debrief and psych eval and mandatory rest.

“I can walk,” he assures Jess, and she looks dubious, but she pulls him to his feet. He wobbles, sees stars, waits for his head to clear. Begins taking uncertain steps towards the gangway.

Outside on the duracrete, the bustle of the base is almost too much for his concussed brain. Normally the starship fumes and swirl of bodies and rapid purposeful necessity give him energy, but today, it seems, they’re draining strength away from him instead.

There’s a shout across the tarmac; Poe looks and sees Finn running full-out toward him, jacket flapping in his wake. It’s as if Poe is seeing him for the first time, a resurrection of the day they both hurtled from the dead back into each other’s lives. He wants to run to him, but barely trusts his legs to keep him upright at a standstill.

Jess looks towards the command center. “I’ll go debrief the general, buy you as much time as I can.” She looks towards Finn and, apparently deciding Poe will be in hands capable of catching him if he collapses, nods and heads towards base.

“Thanks, Jess,” he calls softly after her, and for a moment he thinks she doesn’t hear, but then she calls over her shoulder, “I’ll be checking later to make sure you’re resting, flyboy, I didn’t save your ass for you to fuck it up!”

“Who’s the boss here?” he mumbles to himself, but is distracted from Jess’s impertinence by Finn skidding to a halt in front of him.

Finn stares at him, Poe’s name lodged in his throat. He looks like he’s been grieving.

“Buddy,” Poe says. His voice is raw, and it cracks. “How was your mission?”

Finn shifts his weight, suppressing his anger. “They didn’t tell me,” he says. “They didn’t tell me, until I got back just now. That you were-” he presses his fist to his mouth, shaking a little.

Poe understands the reason for the secrecy. In Finn’s place, he’d have- he might not’ve abandoned his mission, but he’d certainly have been distracted. Distraction gets people killed.

He also knows that, in Finn’s place, he’d have torn Resistance high command apart for the deception.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It’s not-” Finn begins, stops. “It’s not your fault.”

“Well-” 

“It’s _not_. And you even got the intel, or so they said.”

“Well,” Poe huffs, “glad I’m getting some recognition; after all that, I think I deserve it.”

The attempt at levity doesn’t land; if anything, Finn looks horrified by the undefined experiences encompassed by ‘all that.’

Poe’s dimly aware that he’s shivering, the sun doing little to warm him in his still-wet shirt. A blanket wouldn’t be amiss, or a warm embrace. He watches Finn, suddenly uncertain, unable to ask for what he wants. It feels like years since they last touched.

Finn steps forward and wraps Poe’s own jacket around his shoulders. It isn’t very warm, and he’s still shivering, but he appreciates it. Finn seems just as reluctant to touch Poe, afraid to break him. Poe must look worse than he’d thought. He’s grateful for the muddy hue of his shirt that won’t reveal the cuts and bruises underneath.

“I can’t believe they sent you back to fucking Jakku,” Finn mutters.

“Fucking Jakku,” Poe agrees. “I think it’s bad luck.”

Finn reaches out, runs his fingers through Poe’s curls. “Sand in your hair,” he says.

Poe frowns. “Still?” he says, carelessly. “After so long, I would’ve thought it’d be gone.”

He isn’t sure what he said, but Finn’s staring at him with horror in his eyes. “‘After so long’?” he echoes. “I thought you were captured on Jakku, what, today? Yesterday?” Poe just stares at him, confused. Finn’s voice is suddenly intense. “Poe, how long were you captive?”

“They didn’t tell you?” he says, voice dull, the world beginning to spiral. “They got me the day I touched down. Landed, got the intel, sent it - boom, First Order. They were looking for it too, just like last time.”

Finn’s eyes get wide. “They had you for a week? Kriff, Poe!”

“Yeah,” Poe says. He’s so tired.

Finn clenches and unclenches his fists. “And they just left you there? What must have been going through your mind, sitting there by yourself?”

_I was thinking that I wished you would save me again,_ Poe thinks. _Not a helpful comment right now, Poe._

_I was thinking of ways to kill myself if you didn’t._

_Not a helpful comment, either._

“I was just trying not to let them get any intel from me.” His hand goes unconsciously to the cut on his forehead and he picks at the scabbed edges of it. Finn grabs his hand and pulls it away.

“Why are you wet?” he asks softly, looking into Poe’s eyes. His other hand goes to Poe’s cheek.

“Water torture,” he says, and when Finn’s brow furrows, explains, “simulated drowning. It’s pretty effective. They got me to give up the names of five fake Resistance bases. I can see them now, the First Order traipsing through the snows of Hoth-” he’s cut off by Finn pulling him to his chest, his fingers twisting in Poe’s hair. Poe tucks his head into Finn’s collarbone and tries to absorb his warmth.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,” Finn says, pulling Poe closer to him. Poe breathes him in, and Finn says, very softly, “was Kylo Ren?”

Poe stiffens, and Finn takes it as a yes and looks down at him, concerned, but Poe shakes his head. “No, thank the Force, can you imagine the intel they would’ve gotten if he was?”

Finn’s eyes are proud but sorrowful as he pulls Poe back in for a bruising kiss.


End file.
